


All Sorts of Things

by hufflepuffhermione



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 16,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepuffhermione/pseuds/hufflepuffhermione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompted drabbles from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hero

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of drabbles that were requested on my tumblr (also hufflepuffhermione) and I am putting them on AO3 both to archive them and for those of you on AO3 to enjoy. :D This first drabble was prompted by the word Hero.

When Matthew came home from work, he was greeted by Carson in the hall.

“Lady Mary and Master George are in the nursery,” the butler told him, taking his coat.

“Thank you, Carson,” Matthew said, setting his briefcase down on the front table.

He eagerly climbed the stairs and opened the door to the nursery. There sat Mary and George, on the floor. Along with something he wished to keep out of his mind. His trunk of items from the war.

“Papa!” George said, standing up. “Mama and I were just taking out your hero chest!”

Matthew had to force a grin and kneel down next to his son. “Really? I wasn’t aware I had a hero chest.” His eyes met Mary’s, and she quickly averted her own.

“At school they were talking ‘bout the great war, and about all the heroes, and then some of them were talking about how their papas were heroes of the great war, so I asked Mama if you were. And she said you were the biggest hero of them all!”

Mary put a hand on George’s shoulder. “Darling, your Papa is tired. He’s had a long day at work. Let him sit down and relax.”

Matthew gratefully took a seat on George’s bed. He was lost for words. How could he explain to his six year old son that heroics were not an aspect of anything he had done?

“Can you tell me stories?” George asked.

He had none that were appropriate for a boy of six.

“I’m afraid stories wouldn’t quite cover it,” he said, finally. “How about we look at my uniform instead?”

As George fascinated himself with wearing Matthew’s hat and marching around the nursery, Mary took a seat next to Matthew.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He asked, practically begged me to talk about it, and I didn’t know what else to do to satisfy him.”

“I suppose he had to know someday.”

“I know you’d rather not talk about it.”

“Not to my six year old son,” Matthew said, lifting his eyes to see his little boy. “How can I tell him it wasn’t heroic in the least? He thinks so much of heroes and adventure. I can’t tell him about the mud and filth and cold and all the horror and…”

Mary touched his hand. “He’ll understand someday.”

“But for the moment, is there something else we can interest him in?”

“You know George, once he finds an interest, it’s quite a lot of work to pull him out of it. Remember his obsession with dogs last year?”

Matthew found it in himself to laugh. “How could I ever forget?” He allowed himself another glance at his son, who was now fiddling with the medals in the trunk. “He really believes I was a hero.”

“Of course he does. You’re his father. And you’re the best father he could ever think of. So it’s natural that he’s interested in this.”

“I supposed I should be honored,” Matthew said. “As much as I hate this… and I don’t want to let this interest continue too long before he fully understands what happened… I love him and if he wants to show his friends that his father was a hero too, so be it. He might as well have something to show for it.” He lowered himself off of the bed and onto the ground and motioned to George. “Do you want to see that I really was a hero? Because I have a scar to prove it. Would you like to see?”

George grinned. “Yes!”

Matthew gave a look to Mary. “Let’s hope the horror isn’t too much for him.”

“Crawley men are resilient. Just look at yourself. It turned out you really were Perseus.”


	2. Cake Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mary and Matthew fake dating AU in order to get free wedding cake samples

Her phone was ringing. Mary sighed and picked it up, stepping outside of the store she was in.

“Yes?”

It was Matthew. “Mary, you have to pretend to be engaged to me.”

“What?”

She expected to hear laughing on the other side of the phone, but his voice was scarily serious. “Just trust me.”

“Matthew, I’m not going to pretend to be engaged with you without knowing the reason why.”

“Please?”

Mary sighed heavily. “The things I do for family. This better not be stupid.”

Matthew didn’t make any reply to that. Instead, he brightly said, “Meet me at the bakery in the mall.”

“I’m already at the mall.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Meet me in 5 minutes?”

Mary groaned and made her way down to the bakery.

Matthew was standing in front of there, looking like a five year old full of energy.

“What is this even about?”

“I’ve discovered that if a couple is engaged, they get free wedding cake samples.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“No, but Patmore’s bakery has the best cake around. And it’s also really expensive.

So I was thinking…free cake?”

“You summoned me here just to get free cake?”

He blushed. “Maybe?”

“Why do I even interact with you.”

“We’re family. And Crawleys always stick together.”

Mary groaned. “Most Crawleys don’t go around lying to get free cake.”

“You’ll get cake too…”

“I’m more of a creme brulee person.”

Matthew took her hand in his. “Look, darling?”

Mary squirmed away. “Darling?”

“Pretending to be engaged…” he whispered.

Mary rolled her eyes yet again, but she had to admit to herself that her hand fit quite nicely in his… and he really did look rather handsome today, wearing a blue jumper that brought out his eyes.

It didn’t take much acting skill to admire him.

They entered the bakery and greeted the slight brunette at the counter. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello, erm, Daisy,” he started, looking at her name tag. “My fianceé, Mary, and I would like to sample some cake. We’ve gotten recommendations for this place, and we’d like to try it to see what kind we’d like.”

Matthew could pull off looking like he was in love with her, too. He kept throwing loving glances her way.

“Sit down over here then, and I’ll bring you our lists,” Daisy said, pointing them to a table.

Matthew poured over the list of cakes. “I’m rather interested in the vanilla with hazelnut cream, could we perhaps try that?”

“You want a vanilla cake for our wedding?” Mary asked, incredulous.

“I like hazelnuts…”

Mary pointed to another item on the list. “I’m rather interested in the chocolate with raspberry, if we could try that as well.”

“I’ll be right back,” Daisy said, scurrying off.

Matthew smirked. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Shut up. I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”

His eyes drifted to the corner. “She’s coming back. Kiss me, quick,” he hissed.

Her brows furrowed but before she could say anything, she found his lips on hers.  
They didn’t break apart until Daisy said, “Um, excuse me.”

“Oh, of course,” Matthew said, leaning back. “I’m sorry.”

Mary shot him a glare across the table, and he tried to smile at her.

“Here’s the hazelnut, and here’s the raspberry,” Daisy said. “I’ll be in the back, ring the bell if you want to try something else.”

As soon as she left, Matthew grinned. “To the fruits of our labor.”

“You have a cake problem.” She took a delicate bite of the chocolate cake. “That said, this is quite good.”

“I bet that kiss will be even better when both of us have cake on our lips.”

Mary wanted to protest, but she couldn’t. Instead, she found herself nodding in agreement. “Shall we see?”


	3. Do You Promise Not To Tell Another Soul?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Do you promise not to tell another soul what you saw?

Mary hated thunderstorms. She wasn’t sure what about them put her on edge, but she hated them. And it was thundering outside.

There was no use in trying to sleep; she would never fall into repose. She opened her door and made her way downstairs, hoping that perhaps the library might be a nicer place to spend her waking hours.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she could hear noises from the rooms where soldiers slept. Most were hushed voices, out of fear or courtesy. But occasionally, a scream or moan would ring out. Another poor soldier unable to escape from a world that had already damaged him so.

And down a small hallway near the back of the ground floor, she could hear more screams.

Few people slept down there. But Matthew did.

The library would have to wait.

Mary tiptoed down the hall, listening to yells of fear. She stepped in front of his door, and sure enough, they were coming from his room.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

He was asleep. He was dreaming. Nightmares were clutching at him, and he was unable to push them away.

But maybe Mary could.

She turned on the light and let her eyes linger on him a little bit too long. She wanted to cry.

“Matthew,” she said softly, moving toward him slowly, not wanting to be caught in the flailing of his arms.

He didn’t wake.

She called his name three more times, each time growing louder and more desparate. Although she knew it might frighten him to shake him, she did so anyway. Anything to help him wake up. But it didn’t work.

There was only one more thing she could think of.

She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief as slowly he regained consciousness.

Mary took a seat on the edge of his bed and smiled at him as he squinted to make her out. “Mary?” he whispered.

“I’m here.”

He frowned. “But why?”

“I was coming downstairs and I heard you. Were you having a nightmare?”

He nodded, looking childlike and weak and afraid.

“The thunder?”

Another nod.

She took his hand in hers, hoping it wasn’t too forward of her. “I hate the thunder too. It’s why I came downstairs. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Mary, you can’t tell another soul what you saw,” he said, his eyes wide.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It is, though. I’ve lost so much. I don’t want everyone to think I’m losing my mind as well…”

Mary shook her head. “Do you know how many other men are going through the same thing? I heard so many of them out there.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he said again.

“Do they happen often?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I haven’t gone a week without one.”

“No wonder you’re so tired. Matthew, I think we should find someone to help you.”

“What could any man do?”

She pressed her lips together and sighed. “Therapists can do a great deal to help, you know.”

“I don’t want anyone to know.”

“If it gets worse, they might have to. Really though, Matthew, think about it.”

He closed his eyes and settled back into his pillows. “I might.” After a pause, he muttered, “Why did you come?”

“I heard you.”

“Why did you want to come help your crippled cousin, who is still preoccupied with a horror that is past?”

Mary pulled up the blankets around him. “You’re my cousin, and my friend, and I want to help you.”

“Is that all?”

“It is, if you want it to be.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you, then. Really.”

“Get some sleep, Matthew,” she said, returning the smile and turning out the light.


	4. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Richard showed up at Mary and Matthew's wedding?

She had been so enamored at the wedding, so full of excitement and energy and love, that she didn’t notice a shadowy figure in the back of the church.

The reception was quite the event; every important member of society seemed to be there. Mary spoke pleasantly with each one, sensing that Matthew was nervous and frustrated. As the receiving line was coming to an end, she touched his wrist and whispered into his ear, “It’s ending, darling. We just have to go through the rest of the reception, and then we’ll be to ourselves tonight.”

He blushed, and Mary smiled prettily at the next viscount in the receiving line.

They were so busy thoughout the reception that Mary barely had a chance to look outside.

Her moment came when she had a glass of wine in her hand, and was standing next to Matthew as they watched people dance. She glanced out the window, and saw someone pacing on the lawn. A tall figure that she had seen before.

“I’m just going to go for a bit of fresh air,” Mary said, kissing her new husband on the cheek, trying to hide the loud beating of her heart.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, concerned.

Mary shook her head. “If we both leave now, people will know what we’re doing.”

“We’re married, all things are allowed.”

“Yes, but they expect us to at least last through the reception,” Mary retorted, touching his wrist before she made her way outside.

She quickened her pace when she saw him on the lawn.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he said.

“Richard, what on earth are you doing here?” Mary asked firmly.

Richard smirked and walked toward her. “I had to see you get married.” He pressed his lips together and touched her shoulder. Mary jerked away. “Crawley is a good man,” he continued, “or at least much better than I was.”

“I love Matthew,” she said simply.

“And you never loved me.”

“Richard, I…”

He held a hand up. “I understand. Ours was a business arrangement, how could you resist the allure of the handsome war hero?”

“You blackmailed me!”

“I never published though, did I?”

She was silent. She shook her head slowly. “You didn’t publish. Why?”

“I’d rather not be looked on as the jealous man who tries to ruin his ex-fiancee’s life.”

“Is that all?”

Richard stepped back, aware of the space she wanted around herself. “I did love you. It just wasn’t enough.”

“It was that I didn’t love you enough, or maybe I loved Matthew too much, or something like that.”

He tilted his head and looked into her dark eyes. “Are you happy?”

“I am,” she said, careful not to flaunt anything.

“Then I can only hope to be happy as well.”

She allowed herself to smile. “I wish only the best for you. I know we didn’t part on good terms, but I’m so thankful you didn’t publish, and I hope you can find happiness.”

“Goodbye, Mary,” Richard said, tilting his hat. “And best of luck.” With that, he strolled away from her.

She took a steadying breath and turned around to go back to the reception.


	5. Take It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You heard me. Take it off.

  
He leaned against the door, listening for the footprints that signaled Anna’s departure. So he could be alone. With his wife.

His wife. He never imagined he could be where he was now. And she was right next door, and soon they could be together.

The footsteps he was awaiting faded away into nothingness, and his breath caught in his throat. He had to calm himself before knocking.

“Come in,” she said, barely able to hide her giddiness.

He pulled his robe tighter around himself and opened the connecting door.

The light was soft, casting a warm glow in the room in Rosamund’s house where they were staying. And Mary; Matthew was hard pressed to think of a time he had found Mary more beautiful.

“Well?” Mary asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t quite believe this is real.” Matthew said, keeping his eyes focused on his wife as he sat beside her.

Mary pressed her lips to his. “I can’t quite either. Now about these clothes…” she murmured, putting her hands on his shoulders and tugging at the robe.

“Don’t we want to turn the lights off, or something?” Matthew hesitated.

“Come on, take it off, darling. Or do I have to do it for you?”

Matthew froze.

“Is something wrong?” Mary asked gently.  
He shook his head. “No, I’m so desparately happy to be here with you and this is absolutely perfect.”

“But… Is there something you’re afraid of?”

“I don’t want you to have to see…it.” Matthew whispered.

Mary raised an eyebrow. “It being?”

“My back,” he choked out, so nervous he was nearly unable to speak. “The scars all over it… I can barely stomach the sight, how could I force you to?”

She sat back silently, a small smile crossing her features. “Darling, I’ve seen it before.”

“You have?” He straightened up quickly.

“When you first came back… Sybil and I… we cleaned you. We wiped all of the blood and the dirt, and well, I doubt it could look worse than it did then.”

Matthew took her hand in his. “You cleaned me.”

“Yes. I couldn’t just stand idly by.”

“But we weren’t even engaged then, we were just…”

Mary leaned her head on his shoulder. “But I still loved you. I still do, now more than ever.” She ran her fingers over his shoulders and pulled at the lapels of his robe. “Let me help you with this.” It fell away, leaving his torso bare.

She ran her fingers down his back, resting for a second on each scar until she came to the red and purple bruise on the bottom of his spine. “It really doesn’t look that bad.”

“Mary, you don’t have to pretend, I’ve seen it, it’s quite…”

She shook her head and impulsively kissed the scar. “I find it quite beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

Mary joined Matthew on the edge of the bed. “Seeing it means you’re alive, and you’re here, and most importantly, that you’re mine. What could be more beautiful?”


	6. Isabella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted, but written for the MM secret santa gift exchange.

His breath was visible as he stepped outside of the house, crystals forming in the air in front of his. George stepped out beside him and exhaled heavily, giggling as he did so.

“I can see my breath!” George squealed, his eyes bright. His cheeks were already rosy from the cold.

Matthew picked up his son, groaning as he did so because George, at four, wasn’t so little anymore, and blew in his face. “Can you see that?”

“Yes!” George giggled.  
Mary stepped up beside her husband and her son. “What are you two getting up to?”  
George slid down Matthew’s body. Once on the ground, he grinned up at his mother.

“Look,” he said, exhaling again.

“Is that because of the cold?”

George shrugged, noticing Tiaa running out the front door. His own breath had lost its luster and the dog was much more interesting.

“Speaking of the cold, are you sure you should come?”

Mary’s hands instinctively cradled her abdomen. “I’m only eight months gone, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to get ill, not so soon before she’s born.”

“Why are you so convinced it’s a girl?”

Mary asked, smirking. “You were convinced that George was a girl and look how that turned out.”

“Well, why are you so convinced that we’re having another boy?

“The kicking. A lady would never kick that much.”

Matthew rolled his eyes and took his wife’s arm. “Come on George,” he said, motioning to his son who had now become interested in throwing snowballs at Tiaa. If he didn’t want to get yelled at by Robert, George needed distraction. “Are you excited to go on a sleigh ride?”

“With the horses?”

“Yes, and after we’re done, you can feed them apples. They’ll like that a lot. Does that sound fun, Georgie?” Matthew took his son’s hand in his own, and led him behind the house to the stables. A rented sleigh was there, as well as Isobel and the groom.

The highlight of Matthew’s early Christmases had been sleigh rides just outside of Manchester, which his parents took him on every year. He wanted his son to experience the same thrill.

“Granny! We’re going to ride the sleigh!” George shouted, running into the arms of Isobel.

“I’m coming with you, darling,” Isobel said, lifting him into the sleigh. She turned to Mary with a critical eye. “Are you certain you want to come?”

Mary rolled her eyes and stepped into the sleigh with Matthew’s assistance. “I’m barely eight months gone, I’ll be alright. And Matthew brought plenty of blankets to keep us warm, as well as hot drinks.”

“If you’re sure,” Isobel said.

The horses moved under the command of the two grooms in the front of the sleigh, and they were off through the crystalline beauty that was the grounds after a fresh snowfall. George pointed out all of his favorite places on the grounds as the sleigh went past them.

“Mama, are we going ice skating this year?” he asked as they passed by the frozen pond. Instead of going on the New Year’s shoot, Matthew and Mary took George ice skating the past few years.

Mary glanced at Matthew. “I don’t know. Darling, would you rather take George on his first shoot this year?”

“Not a chance,” Matthew replied, his tone frigid. “Of course we’re going ice skating, Georgie.”

“Well I’m not,” Mary said. “Not in this condition. I’ll just watch George skate circles around you.”

Matthew ducked his head and laughed. He wasn’t a very good skater, but he’d much rather make himself look like a fool skating than look competent while holding a gun. And there was no way that he was letting his son shoot.

“Why can’t I go shooting?” George asked petulantly.

“You’re four, darling. That’s much too young to go on a shoot. I was only joking. And your father doesn’t like shooting very much.”

“Why? Grandpapa likes shooting.”  
Mary patted her son’s head. “He’ll tell you someday, when you’re older.”

George nodded and looked up at the sky. “It’s snowing.” He stuck his tongue out excitedly. “Look, I caught one on my tongue!”

“Does it taste good?” Matthew asked. At George’s exuberant nod, Matthew stuck his own tongue out.

“Granny, you should try it.” George said.

“Thank you George, but I think I’ll refrain,” Isobel replied, patting her grandson’s head.

“It’s starting to snow harder. Hopefully it won’t all dump down on us.”

The sleigh pulled through the deepening snow, into an area Matthew only recognized as near where he had renovated a couple of cottages. The snow was beautiful, but the wind was biting, and Matthew saw that all of his family had miserable faces.

And Mary looked like she was in pain.

“Mary? Darling, are you feeling alright?”

She nodded. “I’m alright, it’s probably just best if we go now…”

Isobel reached across the sleigh to take Mary’s hands. “Is it coming now?”

“I don’t know… maybe?” She winced and leaned back against the seat. “We need to go home. Right now.”

Matthew’s eyes were wide. Snow fell on his lashes, and he rubbed his eyes before turning around to the grooms at the front of the sleigh. “Please, take us back to the Abbey. As quickly as you can.” His voice shook and Mary reached for his hand.

“I’m going to be alright,” she reassured him. “It takes hours.”

The sleigh was turned around and began on the path back to the house, but it was much slower, and the snow was coming down in droves. Mary kept wincing, and Matthew couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

“Papa? What’s happening?” George leaned his head against his father’s arm. “Is Mama okay?”

Matthew kissed the top of George’s head. “She will be, very soon.” He didn’t add the silent ‘I hope’.

The sleigh stopped.

Matthew’s heart beat even faster. “Excuse me, why aren’t we moving?”

“The snow. It’s too deep. I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get back,” the groom said regretfully. “I don’t know if there’s somewhere around here that could be shelter… I’m very sorry sir.”

“Is it completely impossible to get back? Because my wife is currently in labor!” Matthew shouted, his eyes beginning to fill.

“There’s the cottages you renovated, not too far from here,” Mary said, shaking. It wasn’t clear if she was shivering or if she was getting further along in labor.

“They’re just a little bit further over there…” Matthew said. “But I really don’t think waiting it out there would be the best idea. Not with you…”

Mary stood up in the sleigh and winced again. “Look, what other choice do we have? We can stay out here and freeze to death, we can try and walk home and freeze to death, or we can go find shelter and wait out the storm. Personally, I’d rather not freeze.”

“I see your point,” Matthew said, lifting George out of the sleigh. “Are you going to be able to make it over there?”

“Walking will be good for me,” Mary insisted. “Makes the labor go faster.”

“I think that’s the opposite of what we want.”

“Ah, so you want me to suffer for longer?”

“No, I want to have a doctor here to deliver the baby!”

Isobel put a hand on her son’s arm. “If anything happens, I’ll be here. I may not be a trained midwife, but I know quite a bit about childbirth. Let’s get over to the cottages before we freeze.”

Mary took Matthew’s arm, leaning heavily on him. George jumped up into Isobel’s arms, and they made the short trek to the cottage.

When they arrived, Matthew pressed on the door of the cottage, and to his delight, it was unlocked. Perhaps he should look into making sure they were locked normally, but today there was no greater blessing than the door being unlocked.

Inside, there was a creaky couch, a fireplace, a small table with a few chairs, and a stove. “There’s a bedroom right through here,” Matthew said, looking upon the small and dusty bed with disdain. “I’ll make a fire.”

“Can I help?” George asked.

“Yes, actually,” Matthew said. “Through that hallway and right outside that door there should be a bundle of sticks. Could you bring those in?”

He nodded and ran down the hall.

“I’ve tried to stock all these cottages so that when people move in they have at least a little bit to start off with,” Matthew explained, bending by the fireplace.

“Alright, Mary, let’s go to the bedroom,” Isobel said, with concern for her daughter in law, who was beginning to wince more and more.

Matthew watched them, concerned. “Mary, are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“She’ll be just fine,” Isobel consoled. “You weren’t here for George’s birth, you’ll see that this is the way things like this go.”  
George ran back into the house, the bundle of sticks in his arms. “Here, Papa! I helped!”

Matthew ruffled George’s hair and arranged the sticks in the fireplace. He stood up and went through the cabinet near the stove until he found some paper and matches. He struck a match and lit the fireplace, and embers began to glow.

“I’m scared,” George said, sitting down on the couch. “I don’t like it here. It’s cold and it’s loud and it smells funny. And it’s dark. I don’t like the dark.”

“I know, Georgie,” Matthew said, taking another item out of the cabinet. “Your Mama and Granny are going to need the candle more than we do, but we have the fire to give us light. And soon it will be even brighter.” He lit the candle and took a few quick steps down to the bedroom.

“Mary, Mother? I thought you would like some light,” Matthew said, handing the candle to Isobel. He glanced around the room, and in the new candlelight, he could see Mary, stripped down to her underclothes, grimacing and sweating.

Isobel patted Matthew’s arm. “The baby is coming. Now.”

“But it’s far too early for that!”

“George was early, too. He turned out perfectly fine.”

Mary’s voice came from inside, weak, but determined. “Matthew, get out.”

“Why should I? I want to be here, I want to see our child!”

“Not for my sake, for George’s. He really shouldn’t be here, but he is. And he’s not allowed in here. You need to keep him calm. And in any case, you really don’t want to see the process.”

Matthew sighed. “If you’re really sure. But I’ll go keep George company.”

“Thank you.”

He leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Stay strong, my darling.”

“I’ll be perfectly alright,” Mary said. “Now go, or George is going to come in here and I don’t really want to explain this.”

Matthew nodded, but kissed her one more time, this time gently on the lips, before leaving the room with a last linger glance.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she affirmed.

George was still on the couch when Matthew returned. “Is Mama okay?” he asked.

“I think she will be, and soon you’ll have a new baby brother or sister,” Matthew said.  
His statement was cut by a piercing scream from the bedroom.

Matthew pulled George into his arms and clutched him tight. The screaming was so reminiscent of the front, it was unnerving. But these were the screams that gave life, not the screams that occurred when life was taken away. He bit his lip and turned away from his son.

“Are you okay?” George asked, his sweet voice bring Matthew’s attention back to the present.

“It’s a little scary to hear Mama screaming like that,” Matthew admitted. George wouldn’t understand all of the reasons behind Matthew’s fear, but Matthew could admit that much.

“Why can’t we go home?”

“There’s so much snow outside that the sleigh can’t go. It’s all so piled up that the horses can’t move. So we’re waiting here until it stops snowing so that we can get back. Great place to have a baby, right?” Matthew sighed as he took a glance at his meager surroundings.

George followed Matthew’s path of glances.

“It’s like the story we heard at church,” he said.

“What?”

“Baby Jesus,” George answered. “In a stable?”

“Well, a stable is a place for animals. But I suppose it is somewhat similar. How appropriate, considering how close we are to Christmas.”

Another round of screams rang through the air. This time, even George looked afraid.  
“I don’t like hearing Mama like that.”

Matthew kissed the top of his son’s golden hair. “Neither do I. It makes me very scared because I want Mama to be okay. And she will be,” he said, hoping to assure himself as much as George.

“Will she stop screaming if I give her a hug?” George asked.

“We’re not allowed in there,” Matthew said. “Although if we were, I’m sure she’d be very appreciative of your hug.”

George sighed. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, Georgie. But all we can do is wait.”

And wait they did. For hours, amid screams and Isobel rushing back and forth for towels and makeshift equipment, they waited in front of the fire.

Eventually, George fell asleep on Matthew’s shoulder, and Matthew sat there, waiting with bated breath for his mother to come out again.

Finally, she did.

She was smiling.

“Here, let me take him,” Isobel said, reaching out for George. “Mary wants to see you.”

Matthew nearly jumped out of his seat, and ran down the hallway to the bedroom. For a moment, he hesitated, every what if filling his mind. But he pushed the door open, and saw his wife sitting up, in bed, with a little baby bundled in blankets from the sleigh.

“Your daughter,” Mary said, smiling at him.

Matthew took the tiny bundle and gazed upon the face of his newborn little girl. “I told you it would be a girl.”

“That’s the first thing you say to me?”

He grinned and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known, and I love you so very much, but remember that for once, I was right. And she’s absolutely perfect.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Mary said. “But I agree that she is absolutely perfect.”

“And everything is alright? You’re both healthy?”

“As far as we know. We’ll go to the hospital as soon as we can get out of here, of course, just to make sure, but I think we’re both fine.”

He kissed her, unable to stop smiling as he did so. “What should we name her?”

“We have to name her after your mother, of course. Isobel brought her into the world, she should be another Isobel.”

“I agree,” Matthew said, “but I’m hoping that my mother will be around a good while longer and it will be confusing to have two Isobels in the family. So what about Isabella? Your grandmother might call it too foreign, but I think it’s a nice variation.”

“Isabella Violet,” Mary replied. “Since Granny will throw a fit if she’s named after Isobel and not herself.”

Matthew smiled and put his daughter back in Mary’s arms. “Welcome to the world, Isabella Violet Crawley.”

“She’ll be a tough one. Born in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“All Crawley women are tough,” Matthew reminded her. He picked Isabella up again and looked out the window. “It stopped snowing,” he remarked. “See, my darling?

The world stood still to see you arrive.”  
Mary reached to take Isabella. “Is she ready to meet her namesake and her brother?”

“I think our little Isabella is ready for anything.”


	7. Stay Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: If you die, I'm gonna kill you.

It was bad enough that George had decided to go fight. Now Matthew was back in the army.

He wasn’t fighting, of course; he was too old to fight and he had been too badly injured in the last war. But he was working for the army, using his legal and diplomacy skills in a place that really mattered.

But this meant he would be traveling back and forth constantly between London and Paris.

Mary didn’t want him in either of those places.

London was getting bombed every night and France had been taken by the Germans and every night she would fear for him just like she feared for her son.

"I already nearly lost you once,” she said, as he was about to get on the train to London. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

He was in an army uniform again. Although he was much older, and not quite as lean as he used to be as a young soldier, he still filled it rather well. “I’ll be careful. My darling, I know what I’m doing.”

“If you die, I’ll kill you,” she burst out.

“Really now?”

Mary couldn’t help but burst out giggling. “Perhaps ineffective, but it makes my point.” Her face sobered. “Seriously, though. Be careful.”

“I will be.”

“And you’re alright with the bombs?”  
They had been up in London a few weeks previous, and Matthew was nearly inconsolable as bombs rained down on the city. It had scared Violet and William; both the bombs and how afraid their father was.

“I’ll manage.” He didn’t look too convinced, but he put on a brave smile for her sake.

“I’d give you my lucky charm, but George has it,” Mary said.

“He needs it more than I do.”

Mary pulled his face toward her and kissed him. “Please, stay safe. Stay alive.”

Matthew pulled Violet and William into tight hugs. “I’m coming back here in three weeks. I’ll be fine.”

The train whistled again, and he climbed on, waving as his family stood on the platform.

He settled back against his seat.


	8. I Thought You Were Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I thought you were dead. AU where Mary and Matthew are married during the war.

When the telegram comes, she can’t quite believe it.

Captain Matthew Crawley; Missing, presumed dead.

She’s always been pragmatic. False hope is a deterrent to life. But she won’t believe it. Not until it’s sure.

Everyone else is hopeless. They all look at Mary with sad eyes, as if she is a child with no concept of reality.

Two weeks, after the telegram arrives, she finds out that she is pregnant. In a way, it’s a relief, especially to her father. There is a chance for an heir.

It’s hard for Mary, but she knows that this child will be the last gift Matthew gives her, and she will do whatever for it.

Months pass, and Mary settles into acceptance. But there is still a glimmer of hope hiding in the deepest recesses of the heart she claims is absent.

By the time her child, a tiny boy with bright blue eyes, is born, she has come to peace with it.

Mostly. Every time she looks into those eyes, she remembers Matthew, and her heart betrays her and flutters with a hope that she has tried to push away.

The war ends a few days after her son is born. That day, she cries more than he does.

It’s a cold, sunny day when she takes a walk a few weeks later, her son in her arms. She sits on the bench-their bench-and keeps him held tightly to her chest.  
Sybil comes running out to Mary, her cheeks ruddy and her eyes gleaming.

“Mary!” she calls. “Come to the hospital right away! Bring the baby, too.”

Mary’s first thought is to be afraid, but Sybil is so excited that any apprehension melts away. She climbs in the car and anxiously waits as Branson drives to the hospital.

She is led through the doors, not knowing what to expect. Sybil takes her arm and brings her right in front of a bed.

The first thing she sees are the eyes. Her son’s eyes. His eyes.

Matthew is alive.

He’s incredibly pale, even more thin, and he looks bruised and ill. But alive.

Mary doesn’t know what to say for a minute. She doesn’t even feel Sybil take her son out of her arms.

When it registers, she throws her arms around him, and sobs on his shoulder for a good few minutes.

“I thought you were dead,” she cries, lifting her head to look at his. She laughs through her tears; there is nothing else she can do.

“You’re not dead!” She kisses him, and doesn’t stop until she is out of breath.

“I’m not dead,” Matthew said. His grin was bigger than she had ever seen. “A little worse for wear, but I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

“Thank goodness,” Mary rasps, kissing him yet again. She lets out a shuddering breath. “There is someone you must meet.”

She takes her son from Sybil and gives him to Matthew. “This is your son. He’s three weeks old.”

Matthew’s face lit up even more when the baby boy was placed in his arms. “My son?”

“I found out two weeks after we thought you were dead.”

“I didn’t ever think…”

She laughs. “He’s ours. And he looks just like you.”

“What is his name?” Matthew asks.

“I haven’t named him yet,” Mary admits. “I couldn’t decide. I didn’t know, since we never talked about this. Maybe I had a feeling?”

Matthew wipes a tear from his eye. “We’ll discuss it later then. He’s perfect. I’m afraid I won’t be a great father at the moment, I’m still recovering from being a prisoner.”

“It’s enough that you’re here. It’s more than enough that you’re alive.”


	9. Unimaginable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You hold your child as tight as you can and push away the unimaginable.

Matthew is in London when he recieves the telegram.

He immediately calls Mary and tells her to bring herself and William and Violet up to London. He’d go down to Downton, but he knows Mary wouldn’t want to be reminded of this moment every day.

He hates making her wait in suspense, but he cannot simply tell her over the phone.

When she arrives, she is stoic, although he can see worry in her features. William and Violet are just confused. Mary didn’t offer any suggestions as to their quick trip to London.

They haven’t been on great terms lately, really not since the war began; he’s been half irritable and half despondent, and she’s frustrated. They fought a few months ago, over George’s descision to take a different, more dangerous position in the army. Matthew had thought it was a good thing for him, and he’d have more protection because of the danger. Mary didn’t want any of it. They haven’t even lived in the same house. Matthew was called to work in the war office in London, but he doesn’t want Mary and his children under the threat of bombs. Having George under that threat was enough.

He’s not under that threat anymore.

Matthew takes Mary into the library, sitting down with her on the couch, their children across from them.

Three little words. He only has to say three words. But they are the hardest words he ever says.

“George is dead,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He hasn’t cried. It hasn’t sunk in.

But as he tells his family, it does sink in.

For Mary, everything falls. And she remembers. She remembers holding George the day he was born. She remembers hugging him tightly on his first day of school. She remembers him gathering both her and Matthew into his arms after her father died. She remembers when he left for war. She remembers the last time she hugged him, whispering “stay alive” into his ear.

He didn’t listen.

Her precious boy, her first son, the one who convinced her that she was maternal, that convinced her she could be the person that Matthew believed she was. She could be the mother that George deserved.

And now he was gone.

She imagines that he’s in her arms again, that he’s safe, that it’s all a dream.

She pushes it away.


	10. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted for a 5 minute fic challenge, this is what happened.

  
“I thought you might be in here,” Mary said, peeking into the nursery. She saw her husband in the rocking chair, their newborn son in his arms.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he asked, looking up to see her.

Mary shook her head. “I think I was the one who woke you. And then I went back to sleep, but I think I woke up again because it was cold in bed.”

“So I did wake you,” he said.

“It’s perfectly alright,” Mary replied sympathetically. “Do you want to come back to bed?”

Matthew shook his head and tightened his grip around George’s tiny body. “No, I can’t go through it again…”

“What was it tonight?”

His face grew pale and haunted. “It was on the battlefield, and I was stuck in the mud and I couldn’t move, and I saw you, holding George, a ways away. And then I saw a German soldier come up and shoot you from behind. I tried to yell at you, but I had no voice. And then… he killed you… and you dropped George… and then he shot George… So I came in here because I had to know that he was safe.”

Mary moved over to sit next to him on the ottoman of the chair. “That sounds awful. Do you know if there’s anything we can do for these nightmares? You can’t just not sleep.”

“I’m just so afraid it’s going to happen again.”

“They’re getting less and less.”

Matthew shook his head. “They’re worse though. I have more to care for, more to be afraid of.”

Mary took George from his arms. “They aren’t reality though. The war is over, and George and I are safe, and if they happen again, just remember that George and I are strong. And no Germans are going to take us down.”

He let a smile ghost across his lips. “I love you, Mary Crawley.”

“Come back to bed,” she said, putting George back in his bassinet. “George is alright, and I’m alright, and we’ll be safe together.”


	11. Three Times Mary Broke Up With Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Break Up

The first time is a warm summer day, the kind where most people say that anything can happen.

Well, it does happen. But not a good kind of anything.

The war comes second, although to most eyes it is first. It is far reaching, devastating, going beyond the confines of the Downton estate, beyond the borders of England, and even reaching out into places Mary has only read of in books. Yes, of course the war is first to most people.

Not to Mary.

To Mary, the day is the day that she ruined everything. The day that her chance at happiness slipped through her fingers.

She is impeccable, she is always impeccable. And she attempts to keep it together as Matthew withdraws his proposal. He is on the verge of tears.  
Mary has never seen him cry, but in a way, it’s oddly comforting. To see that Matthew Crawley is as hurt by this as she is. There’s a sort of grim satisfaction in the idea that maybe it’s not all her, maybe it is Matthew’s fault as well.

But then she starts crying.

She’s been rejected by suitors before. She has never truly cared until now.

Mary leaves him for the arms of Carson, who does not let her down and never has.

* * *

The second time, they hadn’t truly been together in the first place. It is only a stolen dance that binds them, simply a forbidden kiss. Their folly brought them together. Now it is tearing them apart. And now Lavinia is dead.

He is not well, she can see. The little color he had gained after the war is gone, his cheeks are gaunt, and his frown is so deep that she almost believes he will never smile again. But then again, has he really truly been well, ever since the war?

Since they last broke if off?

She tells him how sorry she is. She asks if she can help. It is all words of courtesy, but she genuinely means it. She might not love him (or at least she tries to tell herself that, in the darkness of her bedroom where no one will hear that she might be in love) but she still cares for him. He is still family.  
It shocks her, then, when he blames her. He blames himself as well, but she had expected as much. It is Matthew she is talking to, and she has heard hours worth of self loathing from him, as he blamed himself for the deaths of his men. No, Matthew’s self blame does not surprise her.

But he is blaming her, as well.

Women do not die of broken hearts, and Mary is a little bit offended that he would believe so.

Part of her wants to shake some sense into him, but the other part of her says that he isn’t thinking rationally. Maybe he can’t.  
But she is angry. And while she knows the proper thing to do would be to comfort him, she can’t wait to get away. She is sad, mourning for a young woman, still a girl, really, who died far too young.

And most importantly, Mary Crawley does not stand silently while insults are thrown at her. She fights or leaves.

This time, she doesn’t want to hurt Matthew any more than the world already has. So she leaves.

* * *

 The last time is the worst. She didn’t think that anything could be worse than the day of the garden party. She didn’t think that anything could top the foggy April funeral in misery. But here she is, in black again. At another funeral of a person who died too young.

This time, it is her husband.

She has left him twice. She has gone a different direction when she hasn’t liked what he’s said. Mary knows what breaking up with Matthew Crawley feels like,

But this time, it is different. It is final.

There are no more kisses at the train station, no more proposals in the snow, no more simply being with him. She cannot fix it this time.

There is another difference. This time she stays. She stays by his graveside until she can cry no more, until her mother leads her home.

She can’t stay forever. As her grandmother implores her, she has to move on to the land of the living.

But this is the hardest.


	12. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Magic. Set in a Hogwarts AU.

Most of the compartments on the Hogwarts Express were full. Matthew Crawley held onto the small bag he was carrying, which held his new robes. He awkwardly walked down the hall of the train, peering into compartments.

One seemed mostly empty: there was only a small dark-headed girl sitting in it. She had an air of haughtiness about her, but Matthew decided to be brave and open the door.

“Hello…” he began, and the girl’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes?”

He coughed. “I’m Matthew, it’s my first year at Hogwarts… Do you mind if I sit in here, most of the other compartments are full.”

“I suppose you can,” she replied. “I’m Lady Mary Crawley. It’s my first year as well, but my father is headmaster, so I’ve been to Hogwarts many times. I suppose you’re a pureblood, right?”

Matthew blushed. “It’s funny,” he said, taking the seat across from her. “My name is Crawley… I mean my last name. But you’re really a Lady?” His eyes grew wide, and he looked over her.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, right… Well, I’m actually a half blood, my mother is a muggle, but apparently my father was a wizard. He died when I was young, so I don’t really remember him, but…”

She was glaring at him.

“What did I do?”

“You’re Reginald Crawley’s son.”

He nodded.

Mary stood up, about to yell at him but the train jerked suddenly and she fell back onto the seat. Matthew had the good grace not to laugh, and to his surprise, she didn’t blush at all, but simply continued from her seated position. “You’re the one who’s supposed to inherit my house when my father dies.”

“What?”

“My cousin Patrick was supposed to, but he died in a tragic hippogriff accident.” Mary did not sound especially sad. “So now it’s you. Which is stupid, but non wizarding law is as such. It’s technically under British law. Which means only males can inherit.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “That’s a stupid law.”

“Tell that to the British government.”

“Maybe I will,” he said confidently. “Don’t we get to learn how to change peoples’ minds on things?”

Mary almost smiled. “I think that’s illegal.”

“Well, I was going to be a lawyer, maybe I’ll figure out a way around that.”

“For a boy who pushed in, you’re not so bad,” Mary said.

“Really?”

She winked at him. “Just don’t get sorted into Hufflepuff, I would be teased mercilessly if I were to be friends with you.”

So when the sorting hat cried out ‘HUFFLEPUFF’ and Matthew came down the stairs to the table, his heart sank just a little bit.


	13. Trouble Lurking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Trouble Lurking.

  
Matthew once said that he and Mary were cursed.

It was not one of his finer moments, he acknowledges, which both surprises and satisfies Mary. She is glad to see that his pride does not obstruct his retrospective judgement.

But sometimes she can’t help but think that he has a point.

They have been through so much already, and after they are newly married, Mary allows herself to lapse and believe that the world cannot throw anything more at them. After all, it must be running out of ideas.

Mary is wrong.

When they come back from their honeymoon, there is trouble lurking. And that trouble has a lot of money, a lot of newspapers, an incriminating story, and a broken heart (or perhaps, more accurately, damaged pride).

It is Edith who tells her, and to Mary’s surprise, she even looks remorseful. The war has changed Edith, much like it has changed Mary. But even with Edith’s unexpected sympathy, Mary still feels a sting of indignation at her sister, who gave away her story, who is the cause of the trouble she is facing.

Although if she wants to play the blame game, the world would blame Mary.

In their room, a new, bigger room that was arranged for them while they were on honeymoon, Mary tells Matthew what Edith revealed. “Carlisle wrote,” she says, heavily, “and he said he was planning to publish the story in the newspaper on Friday.”

“He wouldn’t…” Matthew says, his expression darkening. Had Richard Carlisle been in the room, Matthew would not hesitate to punch him, and the thought makes Mary smile. Matthew, who was usually so against violence, would not hesitate to stand up for her.

Unfortunately, Richard Carlisle is not in the room. “He would. I would be very surprised if he did not. After all, I did throw him over.”

“You did not throw him over. He was blackmailing you. You decided a life built on blackmail wasn’t worth it. And I believe, I hope, you were right in doing so. Mary, I don’t care about the scandal.”

Her voice is small, a young girl behind the confident woman. “But I do.” Mary rarely cries, but there are tears pricking at her eyes. “You once said we were cursed.”

“I was being stupid.”

“Maybe so, but so far, it seems as if you’re right.”

Matthew’s face falls, but he pats the bed next to him, and she comes to him. She feels much warmer with his arm around her shoulder. He whispers into her ear,

“Those who matter won’t care.”

“I’m just afraid of how the world will see me. And see you, you’re innocent in all this, but you married me so now you’re connected with it and…”

He rubs her back gently. “Darling, I’m not worried about me. If the world sees you badly, the world is wrong. Because the real Mary Crawley, the true Mary Crawley, is so much more than a scandal from seven years ago.”

Mary almost laughs. “Thank you for that… Sometimes though, I do feel like we’re cursed.”

“What did you always tell me? ‘Don’t listen to the things I say?’ Well, I’m going to say the same thing, because I was stupid and thoughtless… And Mary…”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“There may be trouble lurking no matter what you and I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”


	14. Donk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: She frowned at the amusement evident in his features

She frowned at the amusement evident on his features.

“It isn’t that funny, Matthew.”

He was not laughing, or at least he was trying not to, but his eyes were glinting and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Sybbie is just so adorable when she calls Robert that.”

Mary shook her head, although she had to admit that she was also rather amused. “I don’t think Papa likes being called Donk very much.”

“He might not, but the rest of us will. I think it’s rather sweet,” he said. As the nanny brought George over to them, he picked up the little boy. “Don’t you think, George?”

“Matthew,” she chided, with a teasing roll of her eyes. “If George decides to call my father that too…”

Matthew settled the little boy on his lap, and ruffled his hair. “Robert can live with being called Donk once or twice. Anyway, it was Sybbie’s idea first.”

“Do stop blaming things on a four year old,” Mary groaned, although there was a glint in her eyes as she shifted George onto her lap.


	15. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sunlight

Love is like light.

Sunlight in Manchester is very different than sunlight in Yorkshire. Matthew notices this when he steps out into the garden of Crawley House. Strangely enough, he only notices this after he first meets Mary Crawley.

Candlelight illuminates his first proposal. He loves Mary Crawley, he is sure he does, but when he looks back, he didn’t love her as much as he does in the end. Just as candlelight does not illuminate as much, so his young, innocent love for her does not run as deeply.

The war is darkness. It is gas and smoke obscuring an already cloudy sky. And Lavinia is the sun, or she tries to be, just as the sun tries to shine on the fields of France. Both are unsuccessful.

But he doesn’t realize how much light the sun gives, even in its halfhearted state. And when Lavinia dies, when the trying sun goes away, he feels nothing but blackness.

There is a light though. It is Mary, of all people. And she has always been there, even when he can’t see it. Sometimes she is closer, sometimes she is farther. But she is his true light.

There are clouds on the night he proposes. Snow falls gently around them. Even though it is dark, Matthew has never felt sunlight so bright in his heart.


	16. Nothing Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nothing else. Hogwarts AU

“Are you sure you’re crushing them the right way?” Matthew asked anxiously, looking over Mary’s shoulder and she crushed a pile of leaves unceremoniously.

She shook her head. “I do it exactly as the book says. I’d think you despised group projects, if I didn’t know you any better.”

“I don’t like group projects,” he protested petulantly. He snuck a look around the classroom, to make sure Mrs. Patmore, the potions mistress, wasn’t watching, and he let his hand rest on Mary’s waist. “I only put up with them because I don’t mind working with you,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deep.

“You’re making me lose my concentration, stop!” she chided, putting the crushed up leaves in the cauldron. “Stir it. And be careful! My grade in this class is low enough already.”

Matthew shook his head as he began to stir, his arm moving lazily. “If you studied…

“Pay attention! And I have better things to do than read my Defense Against the Dark Arts book for the thousandth time,” Mary snarked.

“Like what?”

“I do spend a lot of my time with you,” she pointed out. “You can’t get mad at me for that.”

“What else? I spend a lot of time with you, obviously, and I still study like a Ravenclaw according to you.”

Mary shook her head. “Nothing else. I do homework without forcing myself to study extra. And I actually get sleep.”

“I sleep!” he insisted.

“You drink caffeine potions,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

He looked at the potion they were making. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t a caffeine potion.”

“Reason 136 why you need to stop studying and start sleeping ,” Mary sighed.

“Are you keeping count?”

Mary groaned at him. “What do we need to do next to the potion?”

“Nothing else! I stirred it and added the honeysuckle juice, now we wait five minutes and bottle it. And then we watch the test frog turn purple. By the way, what point is there to this potion?” Matthew leaned against the counter and rolled his eyes at the potion.

“You tell me, you’ve been reading The History of Potions at lunch for the past three days.”

“Time’s up!” Mrs. Patmore shouted, and Mary transferred their potion to a small glass bottle. She handed it to the potions teacher, who poured a drop on the frog.

It didn’t turn purple. It did, however, sprout blue hairs.

Mary instantly turned to glare at Matthew, who put his hands up in defense. “Maybe there was something else?”


	17. Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Playing the melody

The music drifted through the house, and Matthew relaxed when he entered. He closed his eyes, smiling at the strains of the piano as he took off his coat. He handed his coat and briefcase to Carson. Despite how tired he was, from a long day at work, he managed a genuine smile at Carson.

“Who is playing the piano, Carson?” he asked pleasantly.

“I can’t say for sure, Mr. Crawley, but you might go and find out for yourself,” Carson replied. There was a soft glint in the butler’s eye, as if he and Matthew were thinking the same thing.

Matthew nodded and walked briskly across the hall, stopping in front of the music room door. It was open, and there sat Mary, her eyes focused on the music in front of her and the glossy black and white keys.

Unwilling to interrupt her, he leaned against the doorway. He could not tear his eyes away from her, how absorbed she was in the music, how beautiful she looked.  
The piece ended, and Mary was about to take out another piece of music when she noticed someone in the doorway. Her eyes snapped up to look at her husband, who was grinning at her in the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded, tucking a fallen wisp of hair behind her ear.

He entered the room and sat next to Mary on the bench, wrapping his arms around her. “Long enough to know that my beautiful wife makes beautiful music.” He pressed a soft kiss to her hair. “Now if only you’d sing as well.”

“You know I don’t…”

“How about I play for you and you sing?”

Mary laughed. “Can you play?”

“I was taught a little bit when I was young, so I could probably kind of do it. I didn’t really have the patience… It may surprise you, but I was a rather impatient little boy.”

“Not much surprises me anymore,” Mary commented dryly.

“If you won’t sing by yourself, maybe we could sing together?” he pleaded.

Mary shook her head. “You’re desperate, darling. But I suppose we could. Close the door, will you?”


	18. Drowning Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mary and Anna- Drinks

Mary never thought that she would take her maid out for a drink.

It broke every rule, every societal convention. None of Mary’s friends would ever take a maid out for a drink. Sybil would, but Mary set Sybil apart from all others she knew. And Mary knew that what she was doing was strange and unexpected, but sometimes the circumstances called.

Anna had first been shocked, then reluctant. She argued all of he points that Mary had already thought of, and Mary had finally yelled, “For heaven’s sake, your husband is in prison and… a very close friend of mine died. I think we both could use a drink.”

“Very well,” Anna said, wringing her hands over the awkwardness of the situation.

Mary put her head down. “I’m sorry for my outburst, Anna. It’s just… you’re the only one left here that I can talk freely with, since Sybil is gone…”

“I appreciate the offer of friendship, but it isn’t exactly proper.”

“We’ve both survived impropriety, I’m certain a pub isn’t going to do us in,” Mary said, almost pleadingly. “Please, Anna.”  
With her reluctant agreement, Mary and Anna found themselves at the Grantham Arms in the village, and they entered. They received a couple of odd looks, but Mary ignored them.

“Have you seen Bates at all?” Mary began, noticing how nervous Anna was.

She shook her head. “No. I have a half day on Sunday, I’ll go then.”

Mary look a long sip of her beer and leaned back against the chair, completely unladylike but too tired to care. “Good. If Carson refuses to give you time off, tell me and I’ll knock some sense into him. I love Carson but I know he can be a bit strict…”

“No, Mr. Carson is being very fair and good about the whole ordeal,” Anna quickly defended.

“Good. I’m glad.”

Anna nodded slowly. “Might I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“I was wondering if you and Sir Richard had thought of a date yet. If you need any preparation beforehand,” Anna said meekly.

“I was hoping for a summer wedding this year, but with Lavinia’s death, it seems we should have to do it next year.” Mary tried her best to sound disappointed, but she didn’t have the energy.

“Is this a matter of avoidance?” Anna asked, and she quickly shut her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was incredibly presumptuous.”

Mary laughed and took another sip of her drink. “But you’re right. It is, and it’s probably obvious to anyone with eyes. I don’t love him, in fact I don’t like him at all. But I have to marry him, and you know why.”

“But you love someone else,” Anna said quietly.

Mary gave her maid a grim nod, confiding in her as a friend. “But Matthew Crawley will never accept me.”


	19. Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Vacation

“I wouldn’t really call this a vacation.”

Mary stepped onto the dock, shaking her head at the unpleasant smell of a harbor in New York. Even on an expensive boat, the harbor was nothing to look forward to.

Matthew stepped off after, laughing in disagreement. “We’re away from our parents, I’m sure that counts as a vacation.”

“Because we’re here to see my grandmother mortify the house of Grantham? And we left George behind, you’re going to spend the entire time here worrying about him,” Mary pointed out.

“Well, won’t he miss us?”

Mary scoffed. “Hardly. He’ll only see a little bit less of us.”

“I know I’ll miss him. But where is your grandmother’s chauffeur? Are we going to have to walk to her house like the world of people without chauffeurs do?” he teased. “Or would that be far too middle class for Lady Mary Crawley?”

“You’d never be able to walk to her house. You’d be begging to drop off for a night in a speakeasy before we were halfway there,” Mary warned.

He brought her closer as they stepped onto the side of the street. “Speaking of speakeasies, how long do you think we’ll last in the land of prohibition?”

“We might have to sneak out of my grandmothers, although there would be horrified family members on all sides.”

“Might be worth it though,” he said, nudging her with his elbow. “I could definitely go for a night out on the town with my wife. Listen to jazz, dance, have a drink. It might be illegal, but…”

Mary rolled her eyes. “You’re the most legalistic person I know, Matthew.”

“Just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I have to follow the law. Especially if it’s a stupid law.”

“Stop trying to impress me with your so called recklessness.”

He raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t trying to be reckless, and I’m not trying to impress you. Obviously I’ve done that enough, considering you were willing to walk down the aisle with me. Although God knows how, considering what you’ve seen me like.”

“Loudly declaring your intent to choose your own wife at your first meeting? Grumpy and irritable when we failed to communicate and ended up breaking it off? Being so moralistic that you could hardly save something important to me and many others? You’re lucky I love you,” Mary said, though her smile made it clear that she was teasing.

“Alright, you can stop pointing out my bad moments. Please Mary, you’re ruining our vacation.”

Mary shook her head. “I think I see Grandmama’s chauffeur. And besides, like I said, it’s not really a vacation.”


	20. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mirror. Hogwarts AU

“You’re supposed to be in your common room, aren’t you. They don’t like people spending all night in the library.” The dark-haired Slytherin put a hand on his blond head. “Come on Matthew, you need sleep.”  
Matthew pushed her hand off of his head.

“Leave me alone, Mary. I need to pass these exams more.”

“You can be awfully dull, you know. All work and no play…” Mary taunted.

He rubbed his eyes and let his head rest on the table in front of him. “If I pass my NEWTs and you don’t, you won’t be talking about play anymore.” He groaned as he lifted himself back up. But I suppose I can study in the common room just as well…”

“I never thought I’d have such a dull boyfriend,” Mary said, with a roll of her eyes.

“Once exams are done, I won’t ever have to study for anything again, so forgive me if I’m being dull, as you say, right now.” Matthew stood up and gathered his books into his arms. “I’ll walk you back to your common room.”

Mary shook her head. “It not like something is going to murder me in the halls.”

“There are janitors out there. That Barrow guy might.”

She shrugged. “True enough. Well then, you might as well. Maybe I’ll actually get a couple words out of you that don’t have to do with patronuses.”

He exhaled loudly, not wishing to argue with her about his study schedule any further.

“For a Hufflepuff, you act an awful lot like a Ravenclaw,” Mary complained, as they walked down the corridors of Hogwarts. She was about to continue speaking, but she felt a hand clamp over her mouth. “Wha…”

It was Matthew. “Come on, I hear someone,” he whispered. He backed up against the wall, and felt a door behind him. He opened it with his back and he and Mary fell in. The door quickly was shut behind them.

“Lumos,” Matthew whispered, reaching for his wand. “Is this just a storage room, or…”  
Mary lit up her wand as well, and she glanced around. “Pretty awful storage room. There’s nothing but an old mirror in here.”

“It looks familiar…” Matthew said quietly.

“You’ve been staring at books for days on end, Matthew, everything probably looks familiar,” Mary muttered critically.

“No, I think I read about it,” he said, getting closer to the mirror. “It’s a runic inscription down here, I might be able to read it. Erised, it says… I think it’s supposed to show you what you desire most… I’ve hear people waste away looking at it.”

Mary raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a mirror to tell me what I want,” she said, with a seductive smile.

“Why?”

She put her hands on his face and began to kiss him. “That’s what I want.”


	21. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fire

He woke up to a pain in his chest and a raw throat, and the first thing he did was cough. It hurt, and he nearly panicked because of confusion. The only thing that kept him calm was the delicate hand that he felt in his.

He opened his eyes, the light burning. He blinked a few more times and saw Mary smiling. “You’re awake.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, coughing before he could finish his sentence.

“Shh, don’t talk. Brave heroes need to rest,” Mary said, touching his face. “There was a fire.”  
Matthew tried to shift in the bed, which he recognized as a hospital bed, and winced. “What stupid thing did I do to make my chest and back hurt like hell?” he asked. It was getting less painful to talk, so he ignored Mary’s warning.

“It was in Edith’s bedroom, which is no surprise, but I wouldn’t wake up so you carried me out and made sure George was safe, and then you decided to go back in to help Papa and Tom,” Mary explained.

“We’re all recovering a little bit from it, but you and Edith and Tom got it the worst.”

“But they’re alright?” he croaked.

She ran her fingers through his still sooty hair. “They’ll be fine. Tom’s been awake for a while now and Edith’s still sleeping, but she should be awake soon. And you’ll be alright too. You’ve just been warned not to talk much for a little while, drink plenty of water, and Clarkson would like me to remind you that you’re not supposed to be carrying anything heavy.”

“Well I’m sorry I saved you from the fire,” he whispered sarcastically, but he allowed himself to smile.

She leaned over and let her head rest on his chest. “You’re trying too hard to be a Perseus.”

“Who’s to say I’m trying to be a Perseus?”  
She smirked. “Sea monsters don’t smell like smoke.”

“If Perseus smells like smoke, then wouldn’t Andromeda find it a very attractive sent?” he rasped.

“Very,” she replied seductively, and brought her lips to his.

Dr. Clarkson looked through the door and noticed that one of his patients was awake… and very busy. He had more important cases, he decided, and he left the two of the alone.


	22. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Storm

They are so consumed with their work and with each other that they don’t notice the droplets at first.

Mary notices first, when a large raindrop falls on her nose, and a sensation of cold passes through her. She has heard of places with warm rain, as warm as bath water, but Yorkshire is not one of those places. Only now does she realize that it is raining fairly hard, and off in the distance, thunder rumbles.

“We should get to a shelter,” she says, glancing backward at Matthew, who is jotting down notes about a field and doesn’t notice how wet his paper is.  
He reluctantly puts his notes down and looks up at the sky, getting a face full of water as he does so. Mary has to try hard to not giggle at him, but her attempts are not extremely successful. She is lucky that she has a good natured husband, she supposes, and she very gladly takes his arm. “I don’t suppose we could make it back to Downton, could we?”

Mary shakes her head. “It’s too far. We’ll be soaked halfway there.”

“At the rate we’re going, we’ll be soaked when we’re halfway anywhere,” Matthew replies.

“And whose fault is that?”

Matthew refuses to answer, instead looking around to seek out shelter. “There are a couple of empty cottages maybe a quarter mile from here. If we hurry, we’ll probably be able to get there before the worst of the storm.”

“Lead the way,” Mary says. He says nothing in reply but keeps her close as they traverse muddy paths in search of shelter. It isn’t lost on her that any time the thunder rolls, he stops suddenly.  
The cottages are small, abandoned stone buildings, built close together. When they see the row of cottages, their pace quickens, and so does the pace of the rain.

It is a relief when Matthew pushes open the wooden door, the cottage thankfully unlocked, and they both stumble inside. The dry atmosphere is soothing, but it is dark. Mary is about to throw open the windows, but she sees a fire starting in the fireplace.

“How did you do that?” she asks, looking on in amazement.

Matthew shrugs and sits on the couch, groaning as he does so. “I know one thing we’re replacing if we ever renovate these cottages. But I had a lighter on me. Never know when you might need one.”

“Why did you have a lighter?”

“Same reason I have a flask of whiskey. They’re both good things to always have on you. Especially in the trenches, but even so now. Would you like some to drink? I’m not an advocate of excessive drink, but it does warm you up.” Matthew reaches into his pocket to pull out a dented metal flask. He takes a swig and sighs as he leans back again and swallows. He hands it to his wife and she takes it in her hands, turning it over.

She takes a dainty sip and hands it back to him. “What happened to my innocent solicitor from Manchester?”

“As I recall, you weren’t keen to marry that innocent solicitor from Manchester,” Matthew replies, a hint of hurt in his voice. He blows out a breath and takes another sip.

She shakes her head and looks away. “I was young and stupid and you were too. We both were, and this is not the place to dwell on past hurts.”

Matthew is about to reply, but a flash of lightning makes light flood the room, and seconds later, thunder rolls. Mary’s eyes focus immediately on Matthew, whose jaw is set, his eyes staring straight ahead, his hands shaking. Before she can think, she is sitting on the couch next to him, his hand in hers.

“Are you alright?” she asks quietly, her voice soothing.

He nods. His own voice is quiet, as if the words are hard to come by. “It sounds like guns.”

There is nothing more that needs to be said. Mary understands, and she wishes she could rid him of the memories, but there is little she can do. Except for one thing.

She presses her lips to his and takes his face in her hands. “Care for some distraction?”

He is still somewhat shaken, but this doesn’t prevent his from pulling her closer and whispering, “You could distract me more…”


	23. On The Shores of Calais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What possessed you to think that this was a good idea?

Mary knew that compared to many, her experiences were limited. But she could hardly see how anything could be more blissful than the first days of her marriage.

She and Matthew had gone up to London the day after their wedding, taking advantage of Rosamund’s empty house to get to know each other, in many ways.

But the days in London couldn’t last forever. Matthew had roused her early, after four days in London house. “We’ve got to leave, darling, or else we won’t make the boat.”

The boat. Rosamund’s chauffeur drove them to Southampton, where they boarded a ferry that was set to go across the English Channel.

Ever since they had planned their honeymoon, Mary had wondered about Matthew’s inclination to go to France. He never talked about the war, but she could see how any mention set him on edge. She couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to seeing the site of his worst memories again.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Mary asked.

Matthew was taken aback. “That’s kind of a silly question, don’t you think? I want to go everywhere with you.”

She didn’t think he was being entirely truthful, but she dropped the subject and allowed him to lead her onto the boat.

They stood at the railing, and he wrapped his arms around her, a gesture that was both protective and sweet. Mary relaxed in his embrace, his warm body distracting from the chill of the wind and the spray of the sea.

The boat ride was relatively short, but there was little to see. It was foggy, grey mist obscuring any view that they might have had. “Is the ride usually this foggy?” Mary asked. “I haven’t usually gone from Southampton, and when I was young and we went to France, it was always in the summer. Never in March.”

Perhaps this wasn’t the right thing to say, because Mary could feel him stiffen. “It depended on the month, really.”

“Hmm,” was all Mary replied with. She didn’t want to make him think about it more. “We’re staying in Paris for the night, aren’t we? Because I have a couple restaurants and shops I’d like to show you. There’s a marvelous bookshop near the train station that I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

“Galignani?” Matthew sounded curious, and Mary could feel his amusement when she let out a gasp.

“You’ve been there too?”

“Uh huh,” Matthew murmured in agreement, pressing his chin to her head. “If I had a short leave where I couldn’t manage to get to England and back, I would spend it in Paris. It was strange, how a place so close to a center of death could feel so full of life.”

Mary stepped back, now standing by his side, and looked over his face. His jaw was shaking and his eyes were becoming glassy, tears threatening to escape at any moment. He had been able to hide the quaver of his voice, but it was frighteningly obvious when he whispered, “Mary… don’t worry about me.”

“What possessed you to think that this was a good idea?” Mary asked. She sounded much harsher than she had intended, and she immediately regretted her words when she saw him shake ever more.

Matthew turned to her, his face that of both an angry man and a frightened little boy. She was unsure how that was possible, but she didn’t dwell on. She took both of his hands in hers and tried to smile at him, but Matthew would not respond. “I thought… I thought it would be okay now. I wanted to be okay for you, I really did.”

“Is this why we came to France?” she asked. It was difficult to keep her own voice calm when she was so afraid for him. She never thought of herself as particularly compassionate, but any thought of herself had fled and she looked at her new husband with deep concern.

He nodded, seemingly all that he was capable of. His breaths were heavy and his face paled. “I’m going to be sick,” he managed to choke out, before leaning over the railing.

She rubbed his back gently. “Shh, don’t worry about it. It’s alright.” She didn’t care about his shortcomings, about the violent emotions he had that managed to make him sick, she loved him just as he was.

When he lifted his head back up, he looked intently at his feet, his cheeks a bright red contrast with his pale face. “Oh Mary, I’m so sorry. It’s just the water and here we are and the coastline of France right over there…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Mary said firmly. “You’ve been through a lot, I’ve gone through some traumas as well, but we’ll get through them together, alright?”  
However weak his response was, Mary was immeasurably grateful for Matthew’s nod, for the slight self-deprecating smile that played at his lips. “I’m so very lucky to have you,” Matthew said, his voice sincere.

“And despite your tendency toward seasickness, I’m very lucky to have you too.” At Matthew’s confused glance, she added, “No one needs to know. Why would they? That is between you and me.”

“Thank you for that,” he replied, allowing himself to laugh lightly. “Maybe France wasn’t such a good idea, like you said…”

Mary shook her head. “If it’s important to you, I think it’s a very good idea. We’ll make new memories here, better ones. Much better ones.”

“I’ll trust you on that. And see, there’s Calais. We’re probably going to dock soon,” he said, forcing a smile. “And then a train to Paris. If you don’t mind, I might try to nap on the train. I didn’t sleep well last night, and that train passes through places I don’t really want to see.”

She tilted her head, looking over him. He still looked pale, and there were obvious dark circles under his eyes. “Were you worried?”

“Yes,” he admitted, biting his lip so hard that Mary feared he might draw blood. “I was afraid that I was going to lose control like I did.”

“You should have told me.”

His shoulders slumped, and he let out a loud exhale. “I’d rather you not notice, or at least pretend. I do have some pride, you know.”

“Too much of it,” she teased. “But in all honesty, don’t feel like you need to keep anything from me. I’m stronger than I look.”

Matthew pulled his wife close to him. “I have no doubt you’re stronger than me, my dear stormbraver. But no matter what storms this trip might put us through, no matter how terrible my ideas are, I’d like a kiss to prepare myself.”

“On the shores of Calais? On a ferry?”

“Why not?”

He had a point, and Mary was only too happy to oblige him.

Their night in Paris was pleasant, despite an episode that Matthew would rather have forgotten. His memories had turned themselves into nightmares, and he had woken Mary. Mary was afraid for him, but she held him tightly until his tears subsided and she was able to comfort him. And she realized that no matter the difficulties, no matter how damaged they were, there would be no greater bliss than her marriage to the man she loved.


	24. Hold My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hold My Hand

The hospital always seems cold, despite how many people are there. Perhaps it is the atmosphere of suffering and death that chills the air, or maybe it is the screams of a soldier who has lost his mind that puts ice in Mary’s veins.

She moves slowly through the beds, not daring to glance at the other men. Part of her wants to run away, forget this place, never come back. There is nothing stopping her.

Except for him.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself as she comes up to his bed and pulls up a chair. His face, so scratched and bruised, is wet with silent tears. He is awake, and he is afraid.

It breaks her heart to see him like this, the strong man she knew and loved…perhaps she still loves him, though she could never admit it to anyone…her dear friend is so broken, so despondent. He had seemed better yesterday, after Isobel had spent quite a bit of time with him, but loneliness is his enemy it seems.

He should not be lonely. She is there for him.

“Do you need anything?” She hears her voice, softer than she had ever heard it. She has never sounded more caring.  
He shakes his head, and grimaces at the physical effort. Her heart breaks all over again. They had all known that he could get injured, that he might not be the same. The family had waited with bated breath as soon as he enlisted. Something was bound to happen.

She was prepared in the least meaningful sense of the word. She was not prepared for this.

“Do you want more morphine? Or a sleeping draught?” If he is in pain, she wants to help. She must help.

He presses his lips together. Finally he speaks, his voice raspy from lack of use. He has been so quiet since he came back. “I can’t feel where it should hurt, I don’t think I need medication,” he says, bitterly.

Mary is not used to this bitterness. She sighs and brushes a piece of blond hair out of his face. “You can admit you’re in pain.”

“I don’t want your pity,” he snaps. She blinks quickly, trying not to cry for the old Matthew who has disappeared inside a bitter, broken man that she isn’t sure she knows.

“I’m not pitying you,” she says. “We all want you to heal as soon as possible. I just want to help.”

He exhales heavily. “You’re different now. I never would have expected Lady Mary Crawley to be very helpful.” He lets out a laugh, but it is not one of happiness or humor. “I never would have expected you to be wiping up my vomit.”

She shakes her head. “Matthew…”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were actually replaced with someone entirely different…” he rambles on, and she realizes what he is doing. He is trying to not break down in front of her, and he only can do that by talking about something else.

She reaches for his hand. He is warm, and she feels a surge of gratefulness at that. No matter how close he looks to death, he is still alive.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some medication?” she asks again.

“I’d rather be able to think,” he mutters. She feels him squeeze her hand. “Will…will you stay? I don’t want to be alone,” he says quietly.

She knows how hard it is for him to ask, for him to admit his fears. She smiles at him as best she can and rubs his hand gently with her thumb. “Of course.”


	25. Locked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mary and Matthew get locked in a room together

Being engaged was awful.

It wasn’t that Matthew was unhappy to be engaged. He was completely and utterly besotted with his fiancee, and he was so looking forward to being married.

It was just that he could hardly spend time with her.

Of course they weren’t allowed to be alone, especially after what Mary had done with Pamuk (although that was years before and Matthew wasn’t convinced that Mary was at fault). He supposed he couldn’t take offense. But it was still frustrating.

He had complained of this in a letter to Sybil, who pointed out that she and Tom were far more restricted; they weren’t even supposed to see each other. ‘The oppurtunity will come,’ she wrote. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so coincidentally, she told Matthew of a story of being locked in a certain room in the house where the lock was installed wrong and the occupants could be locked inside.

The wheels in Matthew’s head began to turn.

He headed up to the house one day eagerly. He had a plan.

“Mary,” he asked, when he met her in the library, “could you give me a full tour of the house? Believe it or not, I still don’t know where half the rooms are.”

Mary smirked. “We wouldn’t be allowed to alone.”

“Then grab Edith,” Matthew said.

Mary’s face fell. “I don’t want to spend…”

“Mary, I have a plan,” he said. “Let’s go get Edith and we’ll make sure our tour goes into the east hallway on the first floor.”

“What sort of plan do you have?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Matthew smirked. “Just trust me.”

And so the tour commenced. Edith didn’t look particularly excited to play third wheel to her sister and her sister’s fiancee, but she sighed and hung back behind them, as they peered into every room, sometimes stepping inside.

When they reached the room that Sybil had told him about, Matthew made sure that the door would lock, and gestured for Mary to step in.

He accidentally pushed a little bit too hard on the door.

But it wasn’t an accident.

He tried the handle.

“Edith? Edith, the door is locked!” he said, trying to sound panicked.

Mary stared at him, open mouthed. He tried to wink at her to assure her that everything was planned.

Edith tried to open the door, but groaned and said, “I’ll get the keys from Mrs. Hughes.”

As soon as the sound of her footsteps disappeared, Mary whispered, “What are you thinking?”

“It was my plan. For once, we’re alone.”

“You are a clever, naughty man.”  
Matthew smirked. “Would you have me any other way? Now, I’d say we have ten minutes before they get back here. How about we make the most of it?”


	26. Dressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dressing

Matthew’s hands were shaking.

He didn’t notice Mary standing at the door of his dressing room.

She watched him reach into the trunk at the bottom of his wardrobe and take out his uniform; the red one. The one for formality and the one for pretending that the war had not been a useless horror.

He pulled each piece out carefully, even reverently, keeping a stone face as he did so.

Mary’s soft voice called out to him. “Where’s Molesley?”

Matthew jumped, but he relaxed when he saw his wife standing in the doorway. “He’ll ill today. I told him I could dress myself, and of course I can, but…”

“You don’t want to go to the dinner.” It wasn’t a question.

He held the jacket of his uniform in his hands. “I know I should go to one of these regimental dinners but it’s just so…”

Mary stepped up to him and put her hands on the lapels of his jacket. “I know.”

“But I do need to get dressed, so if you…”

“No.”

His hands dropped. “Mary…”

Her hands moved to the buttons of his jacket. “I’ll be your valet tonight.”

“You don’t…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve dressed you before.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “You’ve undressed me, yes, but…”

“No. I’ve dressed you too,” she said, and the buttons on the jacket were undone. His hands were still shaking.

He opened his mouth to question her, and closed it decisively when he realized. The hospital. “That was you?”

She nodded and took the jacket off of his shoulders.

“I never… I didn’t realize how much you did.”

“You didn’t have to,” Mary said, moving around to his front again. “I was glad to.”

“Glad?”

Mary tiptoed and kissed his cheek. “Shh. You don’t have to think about it.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s my duty as your wife,” she said, undoing the cufflinks from Matthew’s shaky hands.

“No, for everything there. And for everything since.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I know it’s difficult, and I’m always glad to help.


	27. Books

Matthew is eight years old. He sits on the floor, crosslegged, with a book in his lap and his eyes wide.

Isobel watches from the couch, as he is entranced by the book, slowly tracing his eyes over the words and smiling every once in a while, or rounding his mouth into a ‘o’ shape.

He finishes reading a page, but he hesitates to turn it. He stares at the carpet in front of him, and then at the words again, and finally turns his head to his mother.

“Why does the cat walk by himself?” he asks.

Isobel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure. Does the book tell you?”

“He wants independence, which I suppose is alright, but I don’t understand. Why would he want to walk completely alone?” Matthew purses his lips. “He says all places are alike to him. But there are so many beautiful places, how could they all be alike?”

“Does the cat have any other reason for wanting to be alone?”

Matthew shrugs and closes the book. “I suppose I simply don’t understand why anyone would choose to be alone forever.”

“Neither do I, Matthew. But I’m sure the cat has his reasons.”

.

Matthew is thirteen years old. It is his birthday, and he now has exactly what he wanted as presents: books, books, and more books. They sit in a stack on his bedside table, and he sits on the edge of his bed, dangling his legs and looking over all of them, deciding which he wants to read first.

Isobel had wanted him to put them on the bookshelf in their small library, but Reginald had convinced her not to push it. “We won’t be hearing from him much either way,” he said, winking at Matthew. “Might as well let him keep them with him. They’re his.”

Matthew had smiled gratefully at his father, and had gathered up the stack of books in his arms.

He sits on the bed with two next to him to decide between: Frankenstein and The Count of Monte Cristo. He closes his eyes and happens to grab The Count of Monte Cristo.

There’s something that enthralls him about the elaborate revenge of the story, and the very fact that a man who came from nothing was able to do anything.

Matthew doesn’t come from nothing, but the story thrills him nonetheless. By the time it’s nearing midnight, his mother knocks on the door. His eyes are red and bleary, but he needs to know what happens next.

Isobel knocks on the door, comes in, pats his shoulder, and gently takes the book from his hands. “Happy birthday, my darling. Get some sleep.” She turns down the gas lamp in his room and kisses his forehead.

As soon as she leaves, Matthew turns the lamp up again and picks up his book.

.

Matthew is eighteen years old. Reginald is 56 years old. Or, at least, Reginald was 56 years old.

Matthew is without a father.

He didn’t get home in time to see Reginald, either. Matthew got on the train from Oxford as soon as he got the telegram from his mother that his father was suddenly very ill, but it was to no avail.

He had knocked on the door, and when he saw his mother’s face, he knew.

He can’t cry, though. God knows he cried on the train ride home, despite the stares. But the shock of his father’s death is cold and hard and Matthew almost doesn’t believe it. He had been so healthy and lively and suddenly…

A heart attack, Isobel had said. And like that, Reginald Crawley was gone.

Matthew comes out of his room, wandering, unsure where to go.

His feet take him to the library, and he sees a book on the table. The Divine Comedy. His father must have been reading it.

Matthew curls up on the couch, in his father’s favorite spot. It still smells like Reginald, and it comforts Matthew.

He picks up the book. His father was on the third section of the book, Paradiso. Matthew didn’t go back to the beginning, he just began to read, and something struck him.

His father had known. Why else would he have been reading a novel about heaven? This both chills Matthew and comforts him.

Matthew isn’t Catholic, but he agrees with some of the book. There is a God, and heaven, and if anyone deserves to be there, it’s Reginald Crawley.

Maybe because Reginald knew, he had left it there on purpose.

For Matthew to know.

.

Matthew is twenty-eight years old. There is something next to his bed. And on top of it, a letter. Signed ‘Mary’.

It’s been a few weeks since his birthday, and he hadn’t really expected to receive anything from her. They didn’t really get along. But there it is, a package with a letter from her.

He tentatively opens the letter. Mary’s handwriting is elegant and his heart drops in his chest.

Matthew,

I apologize for how dreadfully I have been treating you. Both my mother and my sister have brought this to my attention. (Sybil, of course; Edith might have but I would never listen to her anyway) I know I have been, although I cannot regret everything I have said, because quite a bit of it is true. I know it was your birthday a few weeks ago, and here is my late contribution. I assume you have read it, considering our conversation on the topic, but in any case, enjoy it. I doubt this can make up for what I have said to you, but I hope it can be a step in the right direction. After all, we must live with each other and peace is always preferable to war.

Mary.

Matthew tears open the package, and inside is a thin book. The story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Matthew recalls their discussion at one of his first dinners, and smiles.

This is certainly a step in the right direction.

.

Matthew is thirty-three years old. And he understands now.

He is broken beyond repair, by war and injury and heartbreak, and he sits (after all, there is nothing else he can do) with books in his lap whenever he is not too tired, and he understands so much of what he read when he was young.

He understands the cat who walked by himself. Because now he is the cat, apart from the irony that he cannot walk. But he has empathy for the cat, who wants nothing more than to be independent through a meaningless, dull life. All places look alike because there is nowhere he can go, and nothing he can do.

He understands the Count of Monte Cristo, and how his desire for revenge was both all consuming and self destructive. War has turned him into a monster, it seems, and he has such strong hatred toward the Germans. They took so many lives, the lives of his friends, his legs… But Matthew also realizes that revenge is both impossible and impractical.

He even understands his father, and why he left The Divine Comedy open on the table in the library. He has been so close to death for so long, and there is such comfort in knowing that there was life after death, that he would see his father and his friends again, and that he had a chance, too, to go somewhere far better than the earth. He isn’t afraid of death anymore; how bad could it be? To be in heaven would be far better than his meager existence.

He only doesn’t understand Perseus and Andromeda; the story of a gallant hero saving the woman he loves doesn’t strike him anymore. There is no valor, there is no honor in fighting, there is only dirt and mud and pain and screams.

Matthew used to understand heroism. But for all that he understands now, he doesn’t understand that anymore.

.

Matthew is thirty-seven years old. And everything is clear.

He sits with his four year old son on his lap, with his wife by his side, and reads the story of Perseus and Andromeda to George until he falls asleep and Matthew tucks him into bed.

Matthew understands Perseus now. He was not trying to be valiant or heroic. He just wanted to save the woman he loves.

He squeezes Mary’s hand. “Your gift has come in handy,” he says, with a smirk.

“I’m glad,” she replies, and kisses him.


End file.
